Page 14 of How Sweet It Is

“We’re cousins by marriage,” Rafe says easily. “My mom married her uncle. We’ve only been family for a few years, butAmelia and I grew close pretty fast.” Rafe reaches out, putting his arm around me, tugging me close.

I shoot him a look, telling him he doesn’t have to lay it on that thick, but he doesn’t notice. His arm stays around my shoulders.

“Ah, I see.” Levi folds his arms. “And do you always crash her dates, or is this a special occasion?”

I gape at him. “This isnota date.”

Rafe chuckles, a low sound in his chest. “I just happened to see Amelia sitting here looking uncomfortable.”

I side-kick his foot under the table.

Levi raises his hands in a surrender motion. “I was just feeding her dinner after her stomach made it known to half the island she needed food. No need to call HR.”

I press my lips together so I don’t laugh. Rafe motions a server over, finally taking his arm off me. “I’ll be joining this table. Can I have a menu?”

“Of course, sir,” he says. The server goes off to fetch it, and the awkwardness at the table returns.

I stare out at the ocean and try to imagine I’m on the beach and not sitting at an uncomfortable dinner. At least the twenty questions have subsided.

“What made you want to start a bakery?” Rafe asks.

Levi eyes him then picks up the saltshaker. “My mom baked a lot when I was little, but after she died, no one baked anymore. I missed it, so I started messing around in the kitchen. I found that I enjoyed it.”

A tiny stabbing pain shoots through me for what he went through at the tender age of twelve. He missed his mom, so he started baking to feel closer to her. That is so sweet. “What was your mother’s favorite thing to make?” I ask.

Levi grins, and I can see how much he loved his mother. “Her favorite thing was angel food cake. My father would tease her because he loved chocolate. He said the dark side was more fun,and anytime she’d make cake, he’d ask for the kind you get to eat in hell. My mom would get all flustered and tell him to stop saying such things in front of the children.”

“That’s funny.” I laugh as a breeze picks up. I can just imagine an exchange like that.

Levi’s eyes sparkle as he talks. “My parents had the kind of marriage you only read about in books. And maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic and only looking at it from rose-colored twelve-year-old glasses, but they were so in love, you could see it in the way they looked at each other.”

I place my hand on my heart. “That’s so special.”

Rafe leans forward. “Can I ask how they passed?”

I want to hit his arm for asking such a rude question, but he’s my handler, so I’m sure he has a reason for asking. Levi fiddles with the saltshaker. “Car accident. It was a drunk driver. That’s why I don’t drink.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rafe says.

I process his words as I stare at Levi. He doesn’t drink? I would have thought he was the party type. He sure fits that stereotype. All smooth talking and only looking for a good time. I never would have guessed he’s sworn off alcohol.

The server brings Rafe his menu, and he orders. As we wait for our food, Rafe peppers Levi with questions about his home life, his schooling, and jobs he’s had. At first, I think it’s funny, because that’s what Levi was doing to me, but after our food comes, I give Rafe the “cut it out” signal. He must be satisfied with Levi’s answers, because he stops and digs into his burrito.

I stab at my enchilada, pulling it apart, as it’s too hot to eat. “So, you ballroom dance?” I ask Levi, a half-smile on my face.

An adorable blush rises up his neck and to his cheeks. He quickly recovers from his embarrassment and grins at me, lifting one eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking if I’ll take you dancing?”

Rafe scoots his chair forward, and it loudly scrapes on the decking. “Oh, sorry,” he says, but he’s hiding a smirk. “Don’t mind me.”

“No,” I say to Levi. “I was just wondering if your dance with the mop was a regular occurrence.”

He shrugs and scoops up some rice. “I like to dance.”

“I noticed. Especially when you were kicking up the flour.”

“I’m a joyful soul. You should try it sometime. It’s more fun than sitting around doing math.” He shovels the rice into his mouth.

Rafe chuckles, and I shoot him a dirty look. “That’s subjective,” I say, straightening my back. I happen to like math.

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